


Off the Deep End

by rotasha



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bisexual Bruce Wayne, Bisexual Clark Kent, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Pining, Single Parent Bruce Wayne, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotasha/pseuds/rotasha
Summary: Hooking Up With Your Best Friend: A Guide1. Don’t catch feelings.Failed step one.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 152
Kudos: 404





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back! This will probably be a shorter one than my three previous stories, I have too many story ideas to get through and they can’t all be slow burn. I think you’ll get where this story is going pretty quickly so all I need to say is that I have once again brought you these two idiots being a couple of dumbass bisexuals. You’re welcome.
> 
> Returning readers, thank you for your continued support, I love you the most. New readers, I love you also. Please enjoy.

It was Friday night, the end of a long, crazy week. Even crazier than usual, which in Clark’s life was really saying something. He’d fought alien invasions, thwarted megalomaniacal billionaires bent on world domination, pulverized approaching meteors with his fist. He’d dated Lois Lane for three years, which on its own had landed him in almost as many improbable situations as being Superman had.

But none of that compared to the revelation Clark had had earlier that week and that he was still reeling from. Batman had finally trusted him with his secret identity, something Clark hadn’t thought the other hero would do… well, ever.

Over years of working together, they’d gone from wary rivals, distrusting each other’s intentions and disapproving of each other’s methods, to reluctant allies, bickering constantly and never agreeing on anything, to the closest approximation of friendship Clark thought Batman was capable of. He trusted Batman with his life, and he knew the feeling was mutual, but trusting Clark with his life and trusting him with his secret identity – in essence, the power to destroy his life, to expose him to the world, to betray him and everything they’d built between them – were two entirely different things.

But Batman had done it, and Clark had responded in kind, and now they knew so much more about each other than Clark had ever thought they would. He still didn’t know what to do with the information, how to process it.

Batman was Bruce Wayne.

Clark never would have guessed, not in a million years. Apparently Bruce was an incredibly talented actor, because in the few interactions they’d had as billionaire and journalist, he’d completely sold Clark on the spoiled, smooth-talking, physically impressive but mostly harmless facade that he wore as well as any mask. Nothing about Bruce Wayne – easygoing, extroverted Bruce Wayne – reminded Clark of the Batman he knew.

On the outside, Batman was dark and brooding; he shunned human connection, putting up walls around himself to keep people away. Only after years of gradually chipping away at those walls had Clark come to know Batman’s softer side, if it could be called that; the side of him that was fiercely loyal and protective, that had a capacity to care more deeply than most people Clark knew. That was the man Clark had formed an unbreakable bond with, the one he would fight beside even in the most perilous situations and against the most unbeatable odds.

That was also the man Clark had started to feel things for that he hadn’t intended to, feelings he knew would only get him into trouble.

Clark had always assumed that danger found him, because of who he was and what he did, but as he’d grown older he’d realized the truth. He courted danger, always had, and not just in his side gig saving the world. Being an investigative reporter was dangerous, at least the way he and Lois did it, and that was a large part of why he’d been attracted to Lois. She ran headfirst into danger, and it was even more impressive considering she was human, and couldn’t fly or lift buildings or stop a bullet with her skin.

And now Clark was feeling the same things for Batman, the poster child of reckless self-endangerment and disregard for life and limb, who seemed most alive when he had narrowly avoided death. Clark cared about Batman, of course he did, he would take a bullet for him, but Clark would take a bullet for most people; his list of people he would lay down his life for was much longer than average. And he genuinely enjoyed Batman’s company, once he’d gotten used to his prickly nature and biting sense of humor. And most of all, Batman excited him, made him feel more alive – maybe even more human, if that was possible – in a way most people didn’t. In the way Lois had.

Once Clark had come to terms with his feelings for Batman, he had also accepted, with a grim finality, that he would never act on them. It had taken this long just to get Batman to tolerate his company; how much longer would it take for Batman to feel anything approaching the romantic toward Clark? He wasn’t going to push his luck. It was an ill-fated attraction and it would never be anything more.

But goddamn, it was even harder now that Clark knew who Batman was underneath the cowl. Not only to know that Batman trusted him to that degree, which had lifted Clark’s hopes higher than they had any right to be, but to know that, all this time, Batman had looked like  _ that _ . Like a dark-haired, perfectly sculpted  _ god _ , with a sultry deep voice to match. Fuck.

So yeah. It had been a crazy week.

And Clark knew there was about a fifty percent chance it was going to get crazier, because he’d accepted an assignment covering an art exhibition. It wasn’t the sort of story he usually covered, but it was the middle of August and it felt like half the  _ Daily Planet _ staff was on vacation, so it’d been all hands on deck the past couple of weeks, and Clark had thought it might be relaxing to cover something low key for a change.

Until Perry had told him the art exhibition was in Gotham.

Which meant there was a good chance Bruce Wayne would be there.

If he was, Clark wasn’t sure what to expect, now that he and Batman – he and Bruce – knew the truth about each other. Would Bruce act like nothing had changed, like Clark was just an insignificant reporter he’d occasionally crossed paths with, and ignore him completely? Would he try to talk to him? What would they even talk about, under the guise of their mild-mannered alter egos?

It was late into the night when Clark found out. He’d seen Bruce in the crowd but hadn’t approached him, and Bruce hadn’t so much as glanced in Clark’s direction. It was looking like they were going with Option A: Ignore Each Other until Clark stepped outside to take a call from Perry. He sensed a familiar presence come up behind him – now that he was paying attention, he noticed all the little similarities between Bruce Wayne and Batman, down to his footsteps, his breathing, his heartbeat – but waited until Perry hung up to turn around.

They were standing on the steps outside the art museum, tucked away between a couple columns. Bruce leaned against one, a pair of champagne flutes in his hands and that textbook Bruce Wayne smirk on his face. Clark wondered who he was talking to, the billionaire who was mostly a stranger to him or his friend.

“Kent, is it?” Bruce began, tilting one of the glasses in Clark’s direction in lieu of a handshake. On the surface his voice was light, casual, but Clark sensed some deeper meaning underneath. It should have made him wary, but instead it thrilled him. (Batman had always had that effect on him.)

“I’m surprised you remember my name.” The Bruce Wayne Clark had thought was real until just this week would never have remembered a reporter who had interviewed him once or twice over so many years, but apparently that wasn’t the Bruce Wayne Clark was dealing with. “Just Clark is fine.”

“What brings you to Gotham, Clark?”

Clark lifted an eyebrow and raised his bright orange press badge. “Work,” he replied, deadpan. He was playing hard to get, and he was painfully aware of it, but he wasn’t going to stop. It was too much fun.

“Obviously. I meant, doesn’t the  _ Planet _ have you covering superhero stories ever since your exclusive interview with Superman blew up? I feel like I haven’t seen you at one of these in years.”

Clark was genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know you were so interested in my career.” Had Bruce looked him up after learning who he was? Or did he have an encyclopedic knowledge of local journalists? Clark wouldn’t put either past him. “To answer your question, yes, I do mostly cover ‘superhero stories.’ But I’m not above dipping into the Arts section every now and then when I’m needed.”

Bruce’s smirk widened. He looked almost predatory. No, he looked… interested. Clark was grateful he was the only one of the two of them who could hear heartbeats, because his was suddenly racing. He regarded Bruce suspiciously, getting his emotions under control. Was this all part of the act? Surely it was. There was no other rational explanation. “Talented and versatile,” Bruce said. “No wonder your skills are in such high demand.” He gestured with one of the wine glasses. “Champagne?”

“I don’t typically drink on the job.”

“Well I’ve already brought you a glass so you might as well make an exception.” Bruce held up the wine. “I’m sure this is expensive. I’d hate to see it go to waste.”

Clark took the champagne flute but didn’t drink. Bruce did, draining half the narrow glass at once. “How long have you been at the  _ Planet _ , Clark?” he asked, although Clark was certain he knew. If he had looked Clark up, he would have done a thorough job. CIA background check levels of thorough.

“It was my first job out of college, actually.”

“You went to school in Metropolis?”

“Yeah. And you went to… Wharton?”

That smirk again. “I’m surprised you knew that.”

Clark shrugged. “Lucky guess.” That was a lie. He’d looked Bruce up too. And there were certain things he just knew, because he was a journalist and Bruce was a celebrity.

Bruce drained the rest of his wine. “Do you like your job?”

“I love it. I can’t imagine anything I’d rather be doing.” That wasn’t a lie. “I’d ask you the same question, but it feels weird asking a Fortune 500 CEO if he ‘likes his job.’”

Bruce chuckled. “It pays the bills.”

Clark laughed. Batman’s sense of humor always caught him off guard. “Seriously though,” he said, “ _ Do _ you like it?”

“I do. It keeps me busy. I like being busy.”

That tracked with what Clark knew of Batman, and of Bruce. And Clark could relate. He’d been living a double life for so long that he thought if he ever had real free time he might go insane from boredom.

A long pause stretched between them. Clark sipped at his wine. He couldn’t tell if it tasted expensive. He was the farthest thing from a connoisseur; he couldn’t even biologically get drunk.

“Are you single?” Bruce asked at the worst possible moment, when Clark was taking a second sip. He spluttered, his calm and collected demeanor shattering and revealing the part of him that was regressing to teenager-with-a-crush levels of embarrassing under the spotlight of Bruce’s undivided attention.

“What is this, Twenty Questions?” he joked, trying to recover, deflect. This was not the way his interactions with Batman usually went. Clark was the socially competent one in that relationship, and Batman was the awkward loner. But here, Batman had completely flipped the script on him, used his Bruce Wayne persona to his advantage to throw Clark off his guard.

“Are you?” Bruce persisted.

“Currently, yes.”

“Straight?”

There was no mistaking where the conversation was going now, where it had already gone. Bruce was flirting with him, and not subtly. It didn’t even occur to Clark to shut him down, set some boundaries, maintain their professional relationship. This was Bruce Wayne; flirting was his default. And this was also Batman, and Clark was head over heels.

“No.”

Bruce looked immensely pleased. He leaned into Clark’s space, and Clark thought for a dizzying, irrational moment that they were going to kiss, but then Bruce spoke, low, deep, seductive. “I was going to head out soon,” he said. “You could come with me. I have a place not too far from here.”

Clark was an adult, he knew what that meant, but in this situation there was no room for error so he abandoned all attempts at playing coy and said, “Are you asking me if I want to have sex with you?”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up. “I was trying not to ask it so bluntly.”

So, yes. Yes, Bruce –  _ Batman _ – was asking Clark if he wanted to have sex with him. Clark couldn’t tell if it was Bruce or Batman doing the asking, or if it even mattered, if there was even a distinction between the two anymore. Batman was blurring the lines faster than Clark had anticipated.

The answer to Bruce’s question was  _ yes, fuck, oh God yes _ , but it wasn’t the answer Clark gave. Rational thought hadn’t left him completely. He knew Bruce’s reputation for one-night stands. Even laying aside the inevitable complications of sleeping with someone he had to save the world with later, Clark knew it was a bad idea to have casual sex with someone he had not-so-casual feelings for.

So that was the answer he gave. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said before he could foolishly change his mind.

Bruce stepped back but appeared unfazed. “Fair enough,” he said. He let his pause sit between them before continuing. “It was nice talking to you, Clark. Have a good evening.”

He pushed his way back into the museum. Clark watched him, first through the glass doors and then with his x-ray vision, as he left his champagne flute on a table and headed for the elevators that went down to the parking garage. He felt his absence like the floor had collapsed underneath him. He was falling with nowhere to land.

Bruce Wayne wanted to have sex with him, which meant – it  _ had  _ to mean – that  _ Batman _ wanted to have sex with him. How long had that been the case? Anywhere near as long as Clark had harbored secret feelings for Batman? Or only since they’d come clean to each other about who they were?

In other words, how much of it was fleeting interest and how much was, perhaps, something a little bit more?

Clark burned to find out. He also burned for other things. He’d imagined a million different impossible ways this could have happened but he’d never imagined that it  _ would _ happen, and he’d certainly never imagined that, when the possibility presented itself, he would turn it down.

Was he crazy? Was he going to regret his choice? Or would he regret it more if they slept together once and it never turned into something more like Clark wanted?

He decided abruptly that he would rather risk it, try this new thing Bruce had presented to him, see where it took them. He wasn’t sure he could live with the endless  _ what if _ ’s if he never found out.

So he burst through the door, abandoned his glass, and shoved through the crowd to the elevators, arriving just in time for the doors to slide shut in his face. He pressed the down button and waited impatiently for the next car, then rode down to the parking garage, maddeningly slow.

When the doors slid open again, he called out. “Bruce!” Bruce turned, looking far less surprised than Clark might have expected. Clark jogged to catch up with him, standing next to a shiny black sports car. “If your offer’s still on the table…”

Bruce pressed a button on his key fob and the car’s gull-wing doors lifted open. “Get in.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos on chapter one! I’ve already outlined the rest of the story so hopefully it won’t take me long to write it.

Bruce sped through the dimly lit streets of Gotham. It was beginning to rain, puddles forming on the pavement, the windshield wipers swishing back and forth. Clark’s mind was running a million miles a minute, still trying to figure out if this was a good idea or a terrible one.

After several minutes of silence, he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself any longer. “What are we doing?” he asked, watching Bruce closely for his reaction. His face was impassive, his outgoing, charismatic Bruce Wayne persona switched off now that it was just the two of them.

It occurred to Clark that it probably took a fair amount of mental and emotional effort for Bruce to pretend to be someone he wasn’t for so many hours of the day. Clark wouldn’t know. Sure, he had a secret identity, but the version of himself he presented in his day-to-day life, Clark Kent the journalist, was still the real him. His personality was the same, he just had to pretend not to have superpowers, which by this point in his life was second nature.

But Bruce was always switching between completely different versions of himself. Bruce Wayne the billionaire obviously wasn’t the real him. What was? Was Bruce his truest self when he was Batman, or was there a third, private personality known only to himself and those closest to him?

Clark thought he was probably about to find out.

Bruce didn’t take his eyes off the road, but he did raise an eyebrow. “I thought I made it clear we’re going to have sex.”

Clark repressed the urge to roll his eyes. This was the Bruce he knew, the genius who pretended not to understand subtext when it suited his agenda. Part of Batman’s social awkwardness was genuine, Clark knew, but he definitely played it up to avoid uncomfortable conversations. “I know that,” he said. “I meant, why?”

“Because I think you’re attractive,” Bruce answered straightforwardly. Even though Clark knew he was objectively good-looking, that his toned physique, good hair, and strong jawline fit society’s aesthetic ideals, it was a surprise to hear it from Bruce. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how I do things, Clark. It’s not a complicated process for me.”

Clark was familiar. Bruce saw what he liked and he went for it. It wasn’t any more complicated than that.

And it was flattering, sure. Bruce found him attractive. That, in itself, was a win. But it was also worrying. Because it was becoming increasingly clear that this thing they were about to do meant much less to Bruce than it did to Clark.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for you and me to do this, though? Professionally, I mean.” He didn’t entirely mean professionally, but it was all he could admit to.

“This doesn’t have to affect our professional relationship.” Of course they danced around any explicit mention of their hero work, even alone in Bruce’s car. It was the only area of their life where they each displayed an overabundance of caution. “It’s just sex. If you’re not interested, I won’t take offense. I’ll drop you off wherever you want and we’ll never speak of this again.” He paused, let that sink in. Clark could tell he was being sincere. If Clark really wanted to, he could put an end to this, and he and Bruce could act as though it never happened.

But it had happened. Bruce had revealed his interest, and Clark, in accepting his proposition, had done the same. Even if they acted like it never happened and never spoke of it again, there was no going back from that. Now that they both knew what they knew, there was no way for either of them to un-know it.

“But the fact that you’re here,” Bruce said slowly, once he’d given Clark a chance to reconsider, “Indicates that you are interested.”

He was right, of course. The frustrating thing about Batman was that he was usually right, even – especially – when Clark didn’t want him to be.

Clark could feel the last of his reservations slipping away. The longer he looked at Bruce, the more he thought about how much he wanted this, how long he’d been wanting it. And maybe it would just be sex, and Clark wouldn’t get everything he wanted, but he’d get a lot more than he ever thought he could, and shouldn’t that be enough?

“But you have thought about this,” he said, already knowing his choice was made, that he’d made it before Bruce had even asked if Clark wanted to sleep with him. “I mean, it’s not just a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Bruce turned away from the road just long enough to shoot Clark a look like he’d said something so monumentally stupid Bruce couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth. Batman? Do anything without analyzing the situation from every angle, carefully weighing the pros and cons? “Right,” Clark said. “Almost forgot who I was talking to.”

Clark caught the briefest flash of a smile cross Bruce’s lips. “In the future, just leave the overthinking to me. You’re terrible at it.”

They arrived, not at Wayne Manor but at a luxury apartment building closer to the art museum. Bruce pulled into the garage and they stepped out, taking the elevator to the penthouse. They didn’t pass a single soul on the way. No one would know Clark had been here. Whatever they did tonight, it would stay completely between the two of them, unless either of them told anyone, and Bruce didn’t seem the type to kiss and tell.

Faced with the sleek, modern penthouse before him – and why Bruce needed so much space for a place Clark was sure he kept just to have somewhere to bring one-night-stands that didn’t involve trekking to the outskirts of Gotham where the Manor sat on acres of land and potentially running into his butler-slash-father figure and adopted preteen child, Clark had no idea – Clark was reminded of something he hadn’t given much thought to before. When he’d first learned Batman was Bruce Wayne, he’d been so focused on how jaw-droppingly attractive Bruce was and how different he was from Batman. He’d neglected to give proper consideration to the fact that he was also filthy fucking rich. Rich enough for that brand new sports car with the gull-wing doors that he’d driven them there in. Rich enough to keep a penthouse in the city just for his one-night stands.

The appliances were top of the line, the view was amazing. The floors and surfaces were spotless, the couch cushions perfectly aligned. There wasn’t a speck of dust in sight. It looked like something out of a magazine, not at all like a place someone actually lived in. (Probably because it wasn’t.)

“Having second thoughts?” Bruce asked, watching Clark like Clark had watched him in the car, and for the first time that night he didn’t sound one hundred percent sure of himself. Clark took some measure of comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only one out of his depth here, and threw Bruce a bone.

“Not at all. Just wondering how long it’s been since anyone actually watched anything on that TV.” He gestured to the ostentatious ninety-inch TV in the living room. Bruce followed his gaze and frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever even turned it on,” he admitted, and Clark laughed as the tension between them dissolved. Clark’s awe at Bruce’s wealth washed away, replaced by a reminder of why they’d come here in the first place. He turned to face Bruce, still smiling.

“Seems like a waste,” Clark said.

“I didn’t invite you here to watch the eleven o’clock news,” Bruce said sarcastically, checking the time on his Rolex, “But if it would make you feel better—”

Feeling bold, Clark took Bruce by the arm to draw him near. Bruce came willingly. “I can’t think of a worse turnoff than the nightly news,” he said.

Bruce leaned in even closer, their faces mere inches apart. “The news around here is all about me anyway.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” They kissed, mouths open, eyes closed, Bruce’s hand on Clark’s jaw, guiding him where he wanted him, and Clark’s hand lingering on Bruce’s elbow, wanting to pull him in closer but still caught in the surreality of the moment.

The kiss started out exploratory; they were figuring each other out, finding how they best fit together, learning how the other moved. Clark felt suspended in time. He could have remained there, kissing Bruce, never taking things a single step further, for hours if Bruce hadn’t made the next move.

Bruce pulled away just far enough for Clark’s senses to return to him and just long enough to take Clark by the wrist and lead him to the bedroom. Clark went willingly, his nerves calm, his doubts forgotten. He _wanted_ this.

Clark wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d wondered what Batman would be like in bed. When he discovered Batman was Bruce Wayne, he figured the answer was probably “really good,” but now he had specifics. The sort of specifics that would fuel his private fantasies for years to come, even if he and Bruce never touched each other ever again. The sort of specifics that made him realize, _Oh, this is why Bruce Wayne has a reputation for being the best lay in the mid-Atlantic._

When it was over, and Clark was lying dazed on silk sheets in a California king, he didn’t have a single ounce of regret in him for what he’d just done. What _they’d_ just done. Maybe the regret would come later, but if it did, he figured he would just replay this moment in his head, and several of the moments that had come before it. There wasn’t room for regret over an experience this amazing.

They didn’t talk afterward. Clark went to the bathroom and did his best to make himself look like he hadn’t just gotten laid. Not that it would matter that much; he’d fly home and no one would see him unless he passed them in his apartment building, and thanks to his super hearing he’d (unfortunately) heard just about everyone in the building get lucky at least once, so none of them had any room to judge.

“I’m assuming you don’t need me to drive you to the train station or get you a Lyft?” Bruce asked when Clark emerged. He’d gotten dressed while Clark had been in the bathroom. Somehow he’d managed not to look too debauched.

“I’ll fly home,” Clark assured him.

“I figured. I’ll walk you out.”

Though the elevator ride was silent, somehow it wasn’t awkward. Maybe it was the endorphins still flooding Clark’s brain. Maybe it was Bruce’s extensive experience with one-night stands. Whatever it was, Clark was grateful.

In the parking garage, Bruce leaned against the driver side of his car to see Clark off. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said, casually, like he did this all the time. (He _did_ do this all the time.)

“Likewise.”

It was an anticlimactic end to the night, but Clark didn’t know what else he expected. They weren’t going to passionately declare their feelings for each other. Bruce probably didn’t have any, and Clark wasn’t admitting to anything.

Clark was home in his cozy one-bedroom in minutes. A wave of exhaustion hit him, that post-sex need to sleep for twelve hours that apparently not even Kryptonians were immune to.

He only slept for eight before his alarm went off. For a hazy moment he wondered why he had to get up so early on a Saturday before he remembered: He was meeting Lois for breakfast. She’d just gotten back from covering a story overseas and they were meant to catch up.

She was definitely going to know something was up with him.

Fuck.

Lois was waiting outside the trendy, overpriced restaurant when Clark arrived. One look and he could tell she knew something was different. She could read him like a book.

At least she waited until they were seated and the server had taken their drink orders before she started grilling him.

“Something happened. Tell me.” She paused, eased off a little, because she was a good friend even if she was also relentlessly curious. “You don’t have to. But I really want you to.”

Clark considered whether or not he wanted to broach the subject with her. They’d broken up two years ago and remained close friends, no hard feelings between them at all, but was this a step too far? He decided he’d ask. “Are we the type of exes who can talk to each other about our sex lives?”

Lois’ eyes widened. “You got laid? That’s not what I would have guessed. Was it a good experience?”

“Yes,” Clark said before really even thinking about it. Even in the light of day, he still wasn’t feeling much regret. It was unfortunate that it had only been a one-night stand, but now he knew what it was like to sleep with Batman. He could silence some of the endless wondering, the what-if’s, with a definitive answer. Even if it never happened again, he would always have the memories.

But…

“But?” Lois prompted, like he’d said it out loud. If it came out that she was secretly a telepath, Clark would not be surprised.

Now that he’d started telling the truth, it was easy to keep going. A part of Clark had always hated keeping secrets from the rest of the world, even though he was used to it, and liked having someone like Lois to turn to. So he leaned in, lowered his voice, and said, “Remember how I told you B and I shared our secret identities?” Even at a whisper, he didn’t want to say too much in public. Lois would know who “B” was. Context clues.

“I think I know where this is going,” she said. “You slept with B. But that’s a good thing. You’ve had feelings for him for a while, haven’t you?”

“That’s the problem,” Clark explained. “It’s not like we confessed any feelings for each other. We didn’t even go on a date. It was very casual. He was clear about that. It’ll probably never happen again.”

Lois nodded sagely. “I see the problem. For him it was a one-night stand, but for you it was more than that.”

“Exactly.”

The server returned with their drinks and took their breakfast orders. When he left, Lois squinted at Clark, the gears in her intelligent brain visibly turning.

“Well,” she said, the tone she used when she had a solution to one of Clark’s problems, “It only happened once. It’ll never happen again. And at least you got to have the experience. So now you can finally move on.”

Again, it was like she’d read Clark’s mind. That was exactly what he’d do. He’d had the experience. He’d gotten what he wanted. Not all of it, but some. He could be content with that and move on.

“You’re right,” he said.

“I know,” Lois said, only a little smugly. “I usually am.”


	3. Chapter 3

Clark didn’t see or hear from Bruce for weeks after their night together. This wasn’t unexpected; it wasn’t as though the two of them ran into each other in their daily lives as journalist and billionaire, and Clark had known, deep down, that Bruce hadn’t intended to start a relationship between them. It was just sex.

Clark didn’t run into Bruce as Batman in those weeks either. This still wasn’t entirely unusual; Superman and Batman did most of their work alone (or, in Batman’s case, with Robin) and only teamed up occasionally. Still, it put Clark ever so slightly on edge. Not because he thought Bruce was avoiding him – if anyone could handle a one-night stand without awkward fallout, it was Bruce Wayne, Mr. One-Night Stand himself – but because Clark wanted to  _ know _ . He wanted to see Bruce, interact with him in person, and judge for himself whether anything between them had changed, for better or worse.

The not-knowing was torture, an emptiness Clark’s imagination filled with a million different scenarios: his friendship with Bruce ruined, their working relationship stilted, or maybe the reverse, an impossible future in which Bruce realized he felt the same way for Clark that Clark felt for him. Clark knew this wouldn’t happen, he knew better than to even hope that it would, but he couldn’t stop himself from returning to the fantasy day after day, his mind like a broken record, taunting him with the thing he wanted most.

When Batman finally came to him with information about suspicious activity he thought was related to one of Lex Luthor’s villainous endeavors, Clark was more relieved than anything. Now, at least, he could find out where they stood.

It was an even greater relief when Batman’s behavior didn’t appear to have changed in the least. He was as efficient and impersonal as ever, laying out the facts, discussing their options. There was no exchange of pleasantries, not a word about what they’d done the night of the art exhibition. It was just as Bruce had said: Things didn’t have to be complicated. They could admit their mutual attraction, sleep with each other, and continue as if nothing had changed. It was that simple.

That simple for Bruce, anyway. Clark was under no delusions that his feelings for Bruce had somehow magically disappeared. But he’d get over it, and at least he wouldn’t have to worry about losing his hard-earned friendship with Bruce in the meantime.

Even after weeks of agonizing over whether sleeping with Bruce had been the right thing to do, Clark still felt that if he could do it over again, he would make the same decision. He’d never been good at saying no to Batman. And even if it had just been one night and it meant nothing, it had been a pretty fucking good night, all things considered.

Like Lois had said, Clark had had the experience, and nothing could take that away from him. That had to count for something.

Clark was lost in his thoughts as he and Bruce wrapped up their conversation about Luthor, having come to the decision that Clark would investigate the suspicious activities and follow up if there was anything more he needed from Bruce. It was nice, being able to work as a team, one of the perks of their friendship that Clark had been so afraid to lose.

When they first met, Batman was paranoid and confrontational, constantly suspicious of Superman’s motives and unwilling to accept his help. And Clark knew he hadn’t been the easiest person to work with back then either; he hadn’t trusted Batman’s methods or his motives and he’d made that clear. Looking back, it was a miracle they’d managed to reconcile their differences.

But once Clark had caught a glimpse of Batman’s better side, his dedication and compassion and sheer brilliance, he should have known he was hooked, that he would have done anything to become one of the few people Batman trusted. Clark had been dating Lois at the time, which had made it easy for him to ignore the way he felt about Batman. By the time he and Lois broke up – for unrelated reasons – Clark was in too deep.

And now he’d somehow managed to dig himself even deeper, and here he was telling himself he’d simply “get over it.” Maybe Clark was deluding himself, but what was the alternative? Resign himself to spending the rest of his life pining over someone who didn’t feel the same way? Clark wasn’t the type. He  _ would  _ get over it. It just… might take a while.

“I’ll be in Metropolis for work on Thursday,” Bruce said, yanking Clark’s attention back to the conversation at hand. Was Bruce talking about his work at Wayne Enterprises? It wasn’t like him to bring up things related to his secret identity when they were in character, as it were, as Batman and Superman. But then again, they’d only revealed their secret identities to each other a little over a month ago. Maybe this was the new side of Bruce that Clark had hoped he’d finally get to see, now that they were being more honest with each other.

“Which work are we talking about?” Clark asked, just to make sure they were on the same page.

Bruce smirked. “Not this kind,” he said, just as Clark had suspected.

“Okay,” Clark replied, moving onto his next question, because he was still a bit confused as to why Bruce had brought it up in the first place. “What does that have to do with me?”

Bruce looked out over the Gotham skyline. They had an unbeatable view, standing on the roof of one of the city’s tallest buildings. Clark could see all the way to the harbor, even without his enhanced Kryptonian vision. It might have even been romantic, if Bruce were capable of romance. “If you’re free that night,” Bruce said, “I thought we could have sex again.”

Bruce’s suggestion was so unexpected that, for a long moment, all Clark could do was stare at him. When he didn’t immediately reply, Bruce turned and smirked at him again. “You wanted me to be blunt last time.”

“I was under the impression last time was the only time,” Clark said, finally finding his words.

“You didn’t enjoy yourself?” Bruce didn’t look offended. He looked genuinely curious. It didn’t even occur to Clark not to answer honestly.

“I did. But you said you didn’t want it to be complicated.”

“I said it wouldn’t be complicated,” Bruce corrected. “And it hasn’t been. At least, not from my perspective.”

Clark didn’t add that it had already been complicated for him long before Bruce had propositioned him. “You don’t think turning this into a regular thing would make it complicated?”

“Not necessarily.” Bruce honestly sounded like it didn’t matter to him whether Clark accepted or rejected his offer. Clark envied his nonchalance. To have this be something simple, something easy, as straightforward as  _ I find you attractive, let’s have sex _ . Wouldn’t that be nice?

Finding himself at the same crossroads he’d faced weeks earlier, Clark didn’t know why he even bothered pretending he hadn’t already made his decision. He hadn’t had it in himself to say no to Bruce the first time he asked. Now that he knew exactly what he’d be saying no to – now that he knew not just that he wanted it but that he  _ liked _ it – there was no way he’d turn down the opportunity to do it again. It didn’t matter that it would be complicated. It didn’t matter that Clark would have to deal with the inevitable consequences of his actions, the emotional fallout of giving himself just enough of the thing he wanted that it hurt that much more not to get the rest.

Those were all problems for future Clark.

“What time will you get off work on Thursday?” Clark tried not to sound too eager, probably failed.

“Around eight.”

“Where should we meet?”

“Is your place an option?”

Clark couldn’t stop himself from imagining Bruce in his apartment, in his bed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fantasized about it a million times before. “Sure,” he said, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He paused, about to give his address, then remembered he was talking to the World’s Greatest Detective. “I assume you know where I live.”

_ Now _ Bruce looked offended, like he couldn’t believe Clark would think anything else. “Of course I do.”

Three days passed between then and Thursday. Three days during which Clark could have done the smart thing and contacted Bruce to call it off. He even had Bruce’s phone number now. The day after their conversation in Gotham, an unknown number had texted Clark:  _ If we’re going to make a habit of this, you should probably know how to contact me. _ It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out who the message was from.

_ You know my address, my phone number, what’s next, my Social Security number? _ Clark had replied. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or concerned that Bruce had apparently done a thorough background check on him upon learning his identity.

Bruce’s response came within minutes:  _ It’s not that hard to find someone’s Social Security number. _

So yes, Clark could have texted, or even called. He could have told Bruce, “Actually, I don’t think this is a good idea.” But every time he considered it, every time he unlocked his phone to compose the message, he’d reread Bruce’s first text and gotten stuck on a single phrase:  _ If we’re going to make a habit of this. _

Bruce was planning on making a habit of sleeping with Clark. Clark didn’t know exactly what that meant, what that made them. Friends with benefits? He’d never had that type of relationship, but he knew the first rule of any casual sex arrangement with a friend was not to develop romantic feelings for them, a rule Clark had already broken. That probably meant – hell, it  _ definitely  _ meant – this was a bad idea.

But on the other hand: Bruce wanted to make this a regular thing. He wanted a relationship with Clark. Not a  _ relationship _ relationship, but some form of relationship, and if Clark had been too weak to turn down a one-night stand with the man, he was even more helpless to turn down  _ this _ .

And that was how Clark found himself leaving work Thursday evening, knowing what was waiting for him later that night. He hadn’t told Lois about it. It was one thing to tell his ex-girlfriend about a guy he’d had sex with; it was another thing entirely to tell her  _ before _ he was going to have sex that he was planning to have sex with someone. It felt like crossing a line. (And Lois would probably also tell him he was making a mistake, and Clark didn’t need another person to tell him something he already knew.)

Clark got home a quarter past seven, giving him forty-five minutes to re-clean every surface in his apartment. Clark wasn’t a cluttered person during the worst of times; he kept his apartment neat and organized and cleaned it every time he had guests, even someone as close to him as Lois, who wouldn’t judge him if he hadn’t wiped down the countertops or taken out the trash. But he needed something to distract himself front he thoughts swirling around inside his head.

Once his modest one-bedroom was gleaming and the whole place smelled like the artificial citrus of cleaning products, Clark checked his appearance in the mirror for the hundredth time. He debated changing out of his work clothes, but it felt strange greeting a man like Bruce Wayne in anything more casual.

It was eight o’clock on the dot when Clark buzzed Bruce in, followed about a minute later by a knock on Clark’s door. Oddly enough, instead of feeling anxious, the knowledge that Bruce was waiting just outside in the hall silenced all of Clark’s worries. Maybe that was a sign he wasn’t making such a terrible decision after all. Maybe it was just a result of Clark relying on Bruce in life-or-death situations for so many years; he trusted Bruce implicitly, and Bruce’s presence made him feel at ease at the same time as it excited him.

“Hey,” Clark said with a genuine smile when he opened the door. Bruce flashed a smile back, though it didn’t linger. The expression looked strange on Bruce’s features, like he didn’t smile often, which Clark thought was probably the truth and which made the fact that Clark had earned a smile from him feel like something special.

Bruce stepped inside, and Clark shut the door behind him. It occurred to Clark to feel self-conscious about his small apartment in the city when before him stood a billionaire who lived in a nineteenth-century mansion and had a penthouse just to fuck people in. But Clark had never aspired to wealth; his one-bedroom was big enough for him, and it was hardly a dump.

“This is a nice part of town,” Bruce said, dispelling Clark’s (admittedly irrational) concerns that his apartment wouldn’t be “enough” for Bruce. Of course, he hadn’t expected Bruce to be judgmental about it, but then again, Clark had so little experience with rich people that he never really knew what to expect. “Do you like it here?”

“I do,” Clark replied. Standing in the entryway with a guest in his home, his Midwestern manners kicked in: “Can I get you something to drink?”

Bruce appeared to consider it. “I wouldn’t say no to a glass of water.”

Clark was relieved Bruce hadn’t asked for anything stronger. He didn’t think he had any alcohol that would live up to Bruce’s standards. Clark couldn’t get drunk, and as a result rarely kept anything more than a six-pack of cheap but acceptable (according to Lois) beer for when he had people over. He poured Bruce a glass of ice water and a second one for himself.

To Clark’s surprise, Bruce pulled out one of the barstools lined up at Clark’s kitchen counter and took a seat. Clark followed his lead, not sure what, exactly, they were doing. He’d expected the night to go more or less how their first night together had gone: a few words exchanged before they got straight to the point and then went their separate ways. But he wasn’t in a rush, and if Bruce wanted to draw things out, Clark certainly wasn’t going to refuse. He figured he might as well make conversation.

“What kind of business brought you to Metropolis?” he asked.

Bruce sighed, leaned forward onto Clark’s counter. “Luthor always has some new idea he wants our companies to work on together. I think he’s trying to expand his influence into Gotham. Unfortunately, I can’t let on that I hate his guts, so I occasionally have to attend these business meetings and act like there’s anything he could say that could convince me to work with him. Then I have Lucius come up with a believable reason for us to turn him down.”

Clark didn’t envy Bruce’s position. He had had to keep a straight face around Lex Luthor once or twice as a reporter, but he was glad he’d never had to sit through an entire business meeting with the man. He was about to say something sympathetic when Bruce continued: “That’s one of the reasons I was looking forward to tonight. If I have to be in Metropolis to see Luthor, at least I can also see you.”

Clark carefully kept his surprise off his face. The idea that Bruce had planned their evening together because he knew seeing Clark would make him feel better after a shitty afternoon with Lex Luthor, the idea that he’d been  _ looking forward to it _ … it was almost romantic. Clark had to remind himself Bruce was experienced at flirting; he probably said this sort of thing to everyone he slept with.

On the outside, Clark defaulted to humor, his go-to coping mechanism when Bruce threw him off guard. “Glad my company ranks higher than Lex Luthor’s,” he said.

Bruce laughed, a brief, sharp sound that nonetheless sent a thrill down Clark’s spine. If a smile from Bruce was rare, the man’s laugh was practically mythical. Bruce leaned farther forward, rested a hand on Clark’s thigh. Clark leaned forward as well, drawn to Bruce like a magnet. “Much higher,” Bruce said lowly, and he closed the remaining distance between them.

The kiss was nothing like their first. It was confident and heated, not a trace of hesitation or caution between them. It made Clark forget he’d ever considered his decision to have Bruce over as a mistake. If this was a mistake, he’d make it over and over again without regret.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce didn’t stay the night, but he also didn’t leave right away. They lay next to each other in Clark’s bed, both staring off into the distance. Their clothes were strewn across the floor, and the apartment was dark save for the glow of moonlight and streetlights coming from the window. Clark was in no hurry to kick Bruce out, so he figured he’d let the man stay as long as he liked. The silence between them was peaceful, not awkward at all, and Clark was enjoying it.

When Bruce spoke, his voice was somewhere in between his natural tone and the low, gravelly voice he used as Batman. It was rough and sultry, sending shivers down Clark’s spine. “You don’t mind this being a regular thing, do you?” he asked.

Clark turned to look at him. The tangle of sheets obscured the lower half of Bruce’s body, but his bare torso was on full display, etched with scars that Clark was only half-surprised to realize he found extremely attractive. He’d known he was attracted to danger, and Bruce had danger written all over him. “I don’t mind,” he said. Understatement of the century.

“Good.” Bruce was gazing at him with an inscrutable look in his eyes, and then he turned away, laid on his back and looked up at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t want to assume anything. And just so you know, I’m not currently sleeping with anyone else. I probably should have told you that the first time.”

This surprised Clark. He knew why Bruce had told him – it was important to know if the person you were sleeping with had any other sexual partners, although Clark couldn’t catch anything, so it mattered less from a health perspective – but it felt strange to know this thing they had was… exclusive. Clark didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know if it meant anything, though he desperately wanted it to.

“Neither am I,” Clark replied, “Although I’m sure you assumed as much.”

Bruce turned to him again with that same odd look. “Why would I assume?”

Clark frowned. “I guess you don’t know. I don’t do this sort of thing often.” _Or ever_ , he thought.

“I don’t as much anymore,” Bruce admitted. “I try to be a responsible guardian for Dick. That means not spending most of my nights with strangers.” He gave a small flash of a smirk. “Good thing we’re not strangers.”

He left shortly thereafter, making no promises as to when they would see each other again. “You have my number,” he said on his way out the door. Clark wondered if that was an invitation to reach out the next time Clark wanted to do something like this. He thought it probably was.

Clark had work the next morning, and when he saw Lois in the morning, he knew she could tell something about him was off. She frowned and raised a questioning eyebrow. He shook his head, signalling that he couldn’t talk about it in their open-plan office, where all their coworkers could hear them. She probably assumed it was related to his superhero work.

When Clark got up to use the bathroom, Lois followed him out into the hall, cornering him by the drinking fountains. Clark stretched out his hearing to make sure no one was within earshot and whispered, “I slept with him again.” He didn’t need to clarify who he meant.

“Did you tell him how you feel?” Lois whispered back.

“No.”

Lois didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t look overly disappointed, either. She mostly looked like she’d seen this coming. “I’m not here to judge you, but I want to go on record saying I think this is a bad idea.”

“I know,” Clark assured her. “So do I.”

She sighed. “As long as you know that. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I can’t stop you, either.”

Clark was grateful Lois respected him enough not to try to talk him out of it. It wouldn’t be unlike her, but she knew how to pick her battles, and she only really tried to convince him if she thought his life was in danger. (And she almost always failed, because he was just as stubborn as she was.)

So Clark kept on his current path. When Bruce texted him a week later to ask if he wanted to meet up, he said yes. Two more weeks later, when Bruce invited him back to Gotham after they’d teamed up with Wonder Woman to stop an ancient evil from taking over the Earth, Clark said yes again. And again the next time, and the next time, and the next. It was always Bruce doing the inviting. Clark had _some_ self-control; not enough to say no when Bruce asked, but enough not to seek out more of something he knew he shouldn’t have in the first place.

He felt a little bit like he was lying to Bruce, continuing on like this was some uncomplicated thing, some casual arrangement, when instead he was deeply conflicted. Every time he thought he could handle this being an unofficial, unemotional, mutually beneficial relationship, Bruce would say or do something that reminded Clark of just how much he wanted it to be _more_.

Bruce asked him about his work, about his family, about his childhood, like he wanted to get to know Clark on a personal level, and he responded by telling Clark about Wayne Enterprises, about his charity work, about Alfred and Dick. Nothing too deep – certainly nothing about Bruce’s parents – and never too much about their superhero work, either. Bruce was careful not to mix the personal and the professional, which Clark appreciated.

Sometimes they talked for as long as an hour before they got around to actually sleeping together. Sometimes they spent another hour afterward talking even more. Once, they’d started making out when Bruce pulled away, apologized, confessed he’d fallen off a building the day before – “It was just a few stories, it wasn’t a big deal” – and that he didn’t feel up to their usual activities, and they’d ended up _just_ talking. It wasn’t anything like Clark would expect from a one-night stand, but then again, this wasn’t a one-night stand, and in a way it made sense if they were friends with benefits. They talked like they were friends, and then… there were the benefits.

But it was so close to what Clark imagined an actual relationship with Bruce would be like. So close, but missing the thing Clark needed most: for it to actually mean something to Bruce.

They were several months into… whatever this was when Bruce called and asked Clark again if he wanted to come to Gotham that evening. Clark had grown so used to this that he no longer hesitated to say yes. As long as he didn’t already have plans, he always said yes.

“Meet me at the Manor at nine?” Bruce suggested. Clark was taken aback. They’d never met up at the Manor. They’d always either gone to Bruce’s penthouse or, if Bruce was in Metropolis, to Clark’s apartment. This made sense to Clark; Alfred and Dick both lived at the Manor, and Bruce probably didn’t want them to know what he and Clark were doing. But apparently Bruce wasn’t worried about that this time.

At Clark’s hesitation, Bruce continued. “We can meet at the penthouse if you’d rather. But Dick sleeps for a few hours every day before we go out at night, so he won’t be around, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What about Alfred?”

“Alfred knows everything there is to know about my personal life. I don’t tell him, he just knows. But like I said, if you don’t want to…”

Clark was a little unnerved that Alfred apparently knew what they were up to, but as long as they weren’t going to have an awkward run-in with Dick, who might ask some uncomfortable questions about what they were doing, Clark didn’t mind going to the Manor. He hadn’t actually been since learning Bruce was Batman. He’d been to the Batcave plenty of times, but not the Manor itself. “It’s fine with me,” he said.

That was how he found himself standing in front of Wayne Manor’s large double doors, ringing the doorbell and waiting as the sound echoed through the house. His x-ray vision confirmed that Dick was asleep in his room and Alfred was minding his own business in his part of the house.

The door swung open, revealing Bruce in a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of slacks. This was his “casual” look; he didn’t wear jeans and t-shirts. He invited Clark inside.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Bruce said. He looked nice; not that he didn’t always, but in the evenings like this, he wasn’t as done up as he would be for work or an event, which made him look more relaxed. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone and his hair was slightly tousled, with a few strands falling onto his forehead. The only time he looked better, in Clark’s opinion, was after they’d had sex, wearing nothing, his hair a mess.

“So am I,” Clark replied as Bruce pushed the door shut behind him. The first thing he noticed about Wayne Manor, now that he was here as Bruce’s personal guest instead of as a reporter covering one of Bruce’s charity galas, was how quiet it was. Even though he’d grown up in Smallville, after years in Metropolis, Clark was used to city life. Things were never quiet, even without factoring in his enhanced hearing. There were always cars in the street, twenty-four hour businesses open, people coming home from late-night shifts or leaving for early-morning ones. But Wayne Manor was far enough away from the rest of Gotham that the sounds of the city were distant background noise to Clark. Instead, he picked up the water sloshing in the harbor, the wind in the trees, Alfred walking around quietly upstairs. It was peaceful.

Bruce led Clark through parts of the house that Clark hadn’t seen when he’d visited before, though it was all grandiose: dark Gothic architecture, paintings hung in gilded frames, a grand double staircase leading to the bedrooms. Bruce’s room was nearly the size of Clark’s entire apartment, with thick blackout curtains – useful for a man who regularly slept past noon – and an ornate Persian rug. The door to Bruce’s walk-in closet hung open, giving Clark a glimpse of his expensive suits hanging in a neat row and his shoes lining the floor.

They didn’t talk much. By now, Clark could tell when Bruce was in the mood for conversation; he would linger in the entryway of Clark’s apartment or his own penthouse, wherever they were at the time, and ask Clark how he’d been since they’d last seen each other, what was he working on at the _Daily Planet_ , and Clark would reciprocate by asking how Dick was doing in school or how work had been for Bruce. But there was none of that today. Bruce caught Clark by the arm and drew him in close, and they kissed deeply.

Clark loved this part, the part where he could shut off his overactive brain and just focus on Bruce’s mouth on his. The sounds of Gotham and the harbor faded away as Clark’s senses honed in on Bruce: the scent of his cologne, the hint of whiskey on his breath, the sound of his heartbeat. Clark had memorized the sensory experience of being near Bruce. He hadn’t done it consciously; it had just happened. He could pick out Bruce’s heartbeat in a crowd.

Later, lying together in Bruce’s silk sheets, Clark’s mind came back to him, and now Bruce did want to talk, so Clark stayed in bed with him and tricked himself into thinking they were together in a real way, because in times like these it truly felt like it.

At around eleven, Clark picked up noises from down the hall, where Dick had been sleeping. Bruce glanced at his watch on the nightstand. “It’s about time Dick and I head out,” he said, sounding like he wasn’t eager to go but moving to get up all the same. Before he got to his feet, he turned and looked at Clark, his face impossible to read. “I’ll be gone most of the night, but I won’t kick you out. You could stay.”

Something in Bruce’s voice shifted the meaning of his words just slightly. Maybe it was Clark’s imagination projecting his own feelings onto Bruce, but he was pretty sure when Bruce said _You could stay_ , what he meant was _You should stay_ , or maybe even _I want you to stay_.

It was almost certainly wishful thinking. More likely Bruce was just being polite. But Clark, never one to disappoint, accepted Bruce’s offer and, not long after he heard the Batmobile pulling out of the Batcave, he fell asleep in Bruce’s bed.

He woke when Bruce returned in the early dawn hours, listened to Bruce take a shower and then climb, exhausted, back into bed. Clark kept his eyes shut but reveled in the feeling of Bruce’s body next to him, close enough that Clark could feel the heat off of him. He heard the shift in Bruce’s breathing when Bruce fell asleep, and it struck Clark that this was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen Bruce, that Bruce was showing him a different, even deeper kind of trust than he’d already demonstrated by fighting side-by-side with Clark for all these years. Clark never took for granted the fact that Batman trusted him with his life, and he felt the exact same way, but it felt somehow even more significant that Bruce trusted him enough to let his guard down completely.

Clark wasn’t aware of drifting off again, but he must have, because the next time he opened his eyes, a thin shaft of light was peeking out of Bruce’s curtains and illuminating the floor. He heard birdsong and when he fished his phone out of the pocket of his jeans on the floor, he saw it was half-past eight.

He didn’t have work – it was a Sunday – but Clark wasn’t the type to sleep in, even on the weekends. He got out of bed, careful not to disturb Bruce. He went to the bathroom, took a shower, found an unused toothbrush still in its packaging, one of the cheap ones dentists gave away for free. He got dressed in his clothes from the day before and headed downstairs.

His mind was elsewhere, or he might have noticed well before he entered the kitchen that he wasn’t alone. By the time he picked up on the somewhat familiar heartbeat, he was already staring straight at Dick Grayson, the two of them frozen in place, Clark in the doorway and Dick with a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth. Clark was all too aware that his clothes were rumpled from spending the night in a heap on Bruce’s bedroom floor.

How old was Dick, twelve? Yeah. He’d definitely received The Talk by now. Fuck.

At least Clark didn’t have to hide who he really was from him. When he and Batman had exchanged secret identities, it had been a given that Robin would also know the truth. Although Clark didn’t know if the knowledge that Bruce was having sex with Superman would be more or less awkward for Dick than the knowledge that Bruce was having sex with some random reporter.

“Hey,” Clark said, hesitantly entering the room. No turning back now.

“Hi,” Dick replied slowly, eyes scanning over Clark from head to toe, the gears in his brain visibly turning. That young detective mind was at work.

“I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Dick pointed to a pot of coffee on the counter. “There’s coffee.”

“Thanks.”

Clark poured himself a mug of still-hot coffee in silence. Dick munched on his cereal. “Bruce didn’t tell me you were…” Dick paused, squinting at Clark like he was searching for the right word (a word that wasn’t “having sex with my adopted father figure, gross”). “Dating?” he ventured.

“I don’t know if ‘dating’ is the right word exactly,” Clark said into his coffee, resolutely avoiding Dick’s gaze. He wasn’t blushing, and Dick was tan enough that if he was, it didn’t show, but Dick’s eyes were wide with realization.

“Oh.”

At that moment, Alfred entered the room. Clark had heard him coming, thankfully, but he wasn’t sure if Alfred’s presence was a good thing, because it meant Clark didn’t have to be alone with twelve-year-old Dick after sleeping with his guardian, or a bad thing, because it meant now Clark had to be in a room with Alfred after sleeping with the man Alfred had raised from about the age Dick was now.

At least Alfred didn’t look perturbed. Clark thought Bruce was probably right about him knowing everything there was to know about Bruce’s personal life. “Master Clark,” he said with a friendly smile. “How wonderful to see you. If I’d known you were staying for breakfast, I would have prepared something more substantial. You’ll have to warn me next time.”

There was no way in hell Clark was telling Alfred in advance the next time he planned to come over, if Bruce ever let him come back at all after this, but he didn’t say this, because it wouldn’t be very polite. “Cereal is fine.”

“Will Master Bruce be joining us?” Alfred asked.

“He’s still asleep.” Clark continued to avoid looking at Dick, now that he’d just confirmed he’d come from Bruce’s bedroom. “I can’t stay long.”

“That’s perfectly alright. Stay just as long as you’d like.”

Clark got out of there as fast as he could and called Bruce later that day. Bruce picked up after a few rings. “Am I interrupting anything?” Clark asked.

“Not at all. Do you need something?” Bruce didn’t sound upset, which was a relief. Still, Clark continued with the apology he’d planned ahead of time.

“I wanted to apologize for this morning,” he said sincerely. “I should have known Dick was downstairs and gone out the window. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Bruce sounded vaguely amused. “You don’t have to climb out my window like we’re teenagers having sex behind our parents’ backs. Dick can handle the knowledge that we’re seeing each other. You haven’t scarred him for life.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’d hate to be responsible for that.” Clark filed away Bruce’s wording to overanalyze later. (What did he mean when he said they were _seeing each other_? It sounded like more than just sex.)

“Anything else?”

“That’s everything.”

“Good. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”


	5. Chapter 5

At a certain point – he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when – Clark had given up on getting over his feelings for Bruce. As long as Clark kept saying yes when Bruce asked to meet up, and as long as those meet-ups ended in them having sex, which happened almost every single time, Clark knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he would be “getting over” anything.

In the weeks after he spent the night at Wayne Manor, Clark gave a lot of thought to what his next move should be. He was enjoying himself with Bruce, but clearly whatever they had wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement. Clark thought he could probably be okay with that, at least for a little while longer. But at some point he was going to have to put an end to things, if Bruce didn’t first. If there was no getting over Bruce while they were sleeping together, then in order to get over Bruce and potentially get into a real relationship with someone who actually returned his feelings, Clark was going to have to stop sleeping with him.

There was also, now, something else for Clark to consider: Alfred and Dick knew Bruce and Clark were, in Bruce’s words, “seeing each other,” and the more Clark interacted with them, the more he realized how invested they were in Bruce and Clark’s relationship.

Alfred didn’t even try to be subtle about it. Every time Clark came over to the Manor – Bruce had started inviting him there instead of to the penthouse, which felt like an upgrade, though Clark still wasn’t sure what it meant other than that Bruce was no longer quite so concerned with being discreet – Alfred made a point of asking whether he’d be staying for breakfast, or whether he’d perhaps like to come by earlier next time and have dinner, in addition to the usual polite questions of how was work and how were his parents doing. Clark knew he meant well, but he could tell Alfred thought his relationship with Bruce was more serious than it actually was.

Dick, on the other hand, just seemed really happy to have Clark around. Clark had known, back when he’d only known Dick as Robin, that the kid looked up to him. Growing up, Clark had often wished he had siblings, and as an adult he sometimes thought it would be nice to have some nieces or nephews around to spoil. Dick was something like that to him: not his own kid, but a kid he cared about and wanted the best for.

So it was flattering that Dick thought so highly of him, and if Clark and Bruce had been in a real relationship, it would have been reassuring, how much Dick liked him and obviously approved of him being with Bruce. But because they weren’t in a real relationship, Dick and Alfred thinking that they were and being so pleased about it was a constant, painful reminder of what Clark couldn’t have and how much he wanted it.

Above all, Clark didn’t want to let Alfred down, and he especially didn’t want to let Dick down. But in this situation, he wasn’t sure how to avoid doing that.

Things got even trickier one day when Clark got a call from Bruce. Clark had just gotten off work, and he answered immediately.

“Hey, Bruce,” he said, walking the ten-minute stretch from the office to his apartment. He could get home much faster if he flew, but he liked feeling normal a few times a day, and walking to and from work was one way he could accomplish that.

The voice on the other end of the line was decidedly not Bruce Wayne’s. “It’s Dick, actually. I didn’t know if you’d pick up if I called you from my phone since you don’t have my number.”

“What’s up?” Clark asked, confused why Dick would be calling him. He hoped nothing was wrong.

“I know you’ve been over a couple times,” Dick said, “But I was thinking maybe the next time you come over you could have dinner with us.”

Every time Alfred had suggested this to Clark, Clark had offered a polite but noncommittal response. He didn’t think Bruce would appreciate Alfred inviting Clark over on his behalf. But Dick was much harder to say no to.

“Did you ask Bruce if it’s okay with him?” Clark asked, because he still didn’t want to circumvent Bruce’s wishes.

“He said it’s fine. I even checked with Alfred.”

“As long as they’re both okay with it, I’d be happy to come to dinner,” Clark conceded.

The enthusiasm in Dick’s voice made him glad he’d said yes. “Great! Bruce can let me know what day you guys decide.”

Clark couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

After hanging up, Clark sent Bruce a quick text, just to cover his bases:  _ Dick wants me to come over to dinner? _

Bruce’s response came quickly. Clark wondered if he’d been standing next to Dick when Dick had called to invite him.  _ I hope it’s not too much trouble. He’s very excited about it. _

_ No trouble at all.  _ _ I’d never turn down a free meal. _

They settled on a date and Clark, determined not to ruin what he wanted to be an enjoyable evening with a close friend (who he happened to be sleeping with) and that friend’s family, kept himself busy enough during the days leading up to it that he couldn’t waste time doubting whether it was a good idea to continue letting Alfred and Dick believe he and Bruce were actually  _ together _ in anything more than the physical sense. Let it be Bruce’s job to set the record straight with them, Clark decided. It wasn’t like Clark had done anything deliberately deceitful. He’d explicitly told Dick they weren’t dating, and he hadn’t told Alfred anything, and now he was having dinner with a friend, which was a perfectly innocent thing to do. If Alfred read into it and Dick didn’t fully understand the nuance of adult relationships, that wasn’t Clark’s fault.

All the guilt Clark had talked himself out of came rushing back as soon as he arrived at Wayne Manor and the front door swung open to reveal a grinning Dick Grayson.

“Hey!” Dick stepped aside so Clark could enter. The kid was dressed like it was a special occasion, in khakis and a sweater over a button-up shirt. Clark was glad he’d also dressed a bit nicer than he would have if he was having dinner with any of his other friends. Something about Wayne Manor demanded a certain degree of formality.

“You’re early,” Dick said as he led Clark through the house toward the kitchen.

“Hopefully not too early,” Clark replied.

When they reached the kitchen, Clark found Alfred wearing an apron and putting the finishing touches on their meal. He had just uncorked a bottle of wine when Dick announced their presence: “Alfred, Clark’s here.”

Alfred looked up and offered Clark a welcoming smile. The obvious joy in his eyes only added to Clark’s unease. He shouldn’t be here, he thought. He shouldn’t be putting on the role of the loving boyfriend for these people who just wanted what was best for Bruce. It wasn’t the right thing to do, and it wasn’t good for Clark, either, to pretend to be something he desperately wanted to be but wasn’t.

It was too late to back out now. Clark returned Alfred’s smile, he hoped convincingly. “Hi, Alfred. Thanks for dinner tonight.”

“My pleasure. It’s always nice to have company, especially yours.”

Clark wondered what he’d done to earn Alfred’s high regard. He knew why Dick liked him – Dick looked up to Superman, a responsibility Clark didn’t take lightly – but Clark hadn’t interacted with Alfred enough to know why he’d taken a liking to Clark too.

“I’ll tell Bruce you’re here,” Dick said, dashing out of the room and leaving Clark alone with Alfred.

“How is your work these days, Master Clark?” the butler asked, sounding like he was genuinely interested rather than merely asking to be polite.

“Busy, as always,” Clark said. “But I don’t mind.”

“I hope you’ve been able to make time for your personal life.”

“Not as much as I probably should.” Clark thought Bruce was probably much the same in that regard, so he added, “But I’m sure you’re familiar with that.”

“Aren’t I just.”

Bruce arrived with Dick in tow. He looked good, as always, and Clark felt that familiar pang in his chest reminding him that Bruce wasn’t truly  _ his _ , as much as Clark wanted him to be. “Clark,” he said, offering a small smile. “Nice to see you.”

“Thanks for having me,” Clark replied. He felt off guard. Bruce was tough to read at the best of times; now, looking at him, Clark couldn’t tell what was going through his head. Was he glad Dick had invited Clark over, or did he resent the intrusion into his private life? Had he noticed that Dick and Alfred seemed to assume they were seriously dating? Did he mind?

“You’re always welcome here.” Bruce sounded sincere. That was reassuring. “Everything ready, Alfred?”

“You’re the only one who wasn’t on time,” Alfred scolded. Dick snickered. Bruce ignored them and gestured Clark toward the adjacent room.

“We’re eating in the dining room,” he said.

The dinner was pleasant. Despite his guilt, Clark found he was enjoying himself. The food was good and conversation came easily. Clark hadn’t really gotten to know Dick outside of his Robin persona, so he asked the kid questions about school, his friends, his hobbies. Unlike his adopted guardian, Dick wasn’t at all uncomfortable talking about himself. Bruce interjected occasionally to praise Dick on his good grades and his other accomplishments, like a proud father. It was cute.

After dinner, they lingered in the dining room and talked for another hour or so before Bruce glanced up at the clock and frowned.

“Sorry to cut the evening short,” he said, “But Dick needs to get a few hours of sleep before we go out tonight.” He turned to Dick when the kid opened his mouth to protest, adding, “You have school tomorrow.”

Dick pouted but didn’t argue. “Can I at least say goodbye to Clark first?” He exchanged a meaningful look with Bruce, silently communicating something between them that led Bruce to stand up.

“I’ll help Alfred with the dishes,” he said, and left the room with a stack of plates, glasses, and utensils.

Once again left alone with one of Bruce’s family members, Clark wasn’t sure what to expect. Dick smiled at Clark from his seat across the table. “I’m really glad you and Bruce are together,” he said, sounding very serious. Clark’s heart fell into his stomach. It was one thing for Dick to think Clark was in a real relationship with Bruce; it was another for him to  _ say _ it, and for Clark to have to decide whether he was going to let Dick continue believing what he did or disappoint him with the truth. He felt a twinge of resentment toward Bruce for not being more upfront with his family and sparing Clark this awkward situation.

It got worse as Dick continued. “You’re definitely the best person he’s ever dated. Sorry, not dated,” he corrected breezily, like the distinction didn’t mean much. “Whatever you want to call it.”

Clark sighed inwardly. He knew he was going to have to tell Dick the truth. It wouldn’t be right to deliberately mislead him. As it was, Clark had already let things go too far. “Thanks, Dick,” he said. “But I think you might be confused. Bruce and I are friends.”

He was going to say more when Dick interrupted with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not a little kid, Clark. I know you’re not having sleepovers.”

How to explain friends with benefits to a twelve-year-old? Clark decided he wasn’t even remotely qualified for this and gave up, settling on, “It’s complicated.”

Dick didn’t look satisfied with that answer, but a moment later, Bruce came to the rescue, sending Dick upstairs to bed. He didn’t show any signs of having overheard Clark and Dick’s conversation, and Clark didn’t know if he should bring it up.

Clark had a lot to think about. He felt like he’d gotten in too deep, even deeper than he’d realized, now that Bruce’s family was involved. Now Dick was saying things like how glad he was Clark and Bruce were together and that Clark was the best person Bruce had ever dated. If anything, it had finally convinced Clark of what he needed to do.

When Bruce not-so-subtly invited him to spend the night, Clark turned him down. It didn’t feel right, knowing what he now did, having decided what he had now ultimately decided. As much as Clark wanted to have Bruce for one last night, he knew it wouldn’t be good for either of them, and he also knew sleeping with Bruce again could potentially change his mind and keep him stuck in this dead-end relationship that he should have gotten out of months ago. (That he never should have gotten into in the first place.)

It was a few days before Bruce contacted him again. Clark’s resolve had only strengthened since dinner at Wayne Manor. He was determined to put an end to things with Bruce. He hoped their relationship could go back to what it was before, that this experience wouldn’t put a strain on their friendship. The idea that there might now be distance between them was the only thing that made him hesitate when Bruce asked if he’d like to come over, but Clark didn’t let that stop him.

“Bruce,” he said into the phone, sitting on the sofa in his apartment, staring at his muted television. The Kansas City Chiefs were up by a slim lead, and the close game had been a semi-effective distraction, but now Clark had to focus on the task at hand. “I don’t think this is a good idea anymore.”

There was a long pause before Bruce spoke. When he did, his tone was carefully neutral. “Okay. Any particular reason?”

“I’m not like you,” Clark confessed. “I’m not used to arrangements like this, and it’s been fun, but in the long term, I don’t see myself satisfied with just sex.”

This next pause stretched on so long that the game went to commercial, advertising a sleep aid with video footage of a woman dramatically tossing and turning in bed and then, in the next clip, sleeping soundly. Finally, Bruce spoke, and Clark still couldn’t discern from his voice what he was feeling. “I understand,” he said. “It’s not for everyone.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Clark collapsed into the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, wishing he hadn’t had to do what he’d just done.


	6. Chapter 6

Once again, Lois seemed to notice the change in Clark the minute he stepped into the office on Monday morning. She took him by the elbow and dragged him into the hallway; their coworkers largely ignored them, used to the pair sneaking off to have private conversations in the middle of the work day.

“This is about Batman again, isn’t it?” Lois whispered. It was early enough in the day that not all of the _Daily Planet_ ’s staff had arrived, so they were less likely to be overheard, but Clark still made sure he didn’t sense anyone within earshot.

“It is,” he admitted. He hadn’t confided much in Lois since informing her of his decision to continue sleeping with Bruce, and she hadn’t pressed the issue. They had plenty of other things to talk about, and Lois respected his right as a fully grown adult to make bad decisions and reap the consequences.

“What happened this time?”

Clark ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I broke it off.” It felt good to admit it to someone after spending all weekend alone with his thoughts. “You were right all along. It was a terrible idea from the beginning, and I shouldn’t have let it go on this long.”

Under normal circumstances, Lois loved nothing more than being right, but she was above all a good friend and would never rub Clark’s misery in his face. Instead of saying, “I told you so,” she offered a brief hug, friendly and work-appropriate but nonetheless comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. “Not at work, obviously. But you could come over. Or I could come to your place.”

Clark considered her offer. He thought it would probably be good for him to talk this out with someone, especially someone like Lois, who always had a rational head on her shoulders and would be able to confidently reassure him that he made the right choice. But he didn’t want to do that right away. He needed time to get over the initial feeling of loss. “Maybe after I’ve had some time to process it,” he said.

“Whatever you need from me, just say the word,” Lois assured him. “I know you can’t get drunk, but drowning your feelings in ice cream is almost as good.”

Clark managed a smile. No matter what happened, he knew he’d always have Lois. Their romantic relationship hadn’t worked out, but they were good friends, and he was grateful there wasn’t any lingering awkwardness between them. He could only hope to achieve something similar with Bruce. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll give that a try.”

Much like after the first time he slept with Bruce, Clark was anxious to see how this new shift in their relationship would impact their work together as Batman and Superman. He would hate to lose Bruce’s friendship, or to have damaged it in any way, but he knew better than to expect things would be completely unchanged. Clark could hope for things to go back to the way they were before they had sex, but there was no way to turn back the clock or undo all the things they’d done.

Even on Clark’s end, things were already different. He knew more about Bruce now, about who he really was when he wasn’t playing the role of crime-fighting vigilante or playboy billionaire. He knew about his family, Alfred and Dick. He’d shared a bed with Bruce, seen him in his most intimate state and his most vulnerable. Things would never be the same between them after that.

The first time Batman and Superman had to work together after Clark ended things, Clark realized just how different things were. It didn’t help that Robin was also with them. Clark had to assume Dick knew what had happened, because even though the kid tried to put on a happy face, he lacked his usual enthusiasm and barely exchanged two words with Clark that weren’t directly related to the mission. Dick had never been upset with him before, and it hurt to know Clark could have avoided all this if he’d only called things off sooner, or if he hadn’t started sleeping with Bruce in the first place. If he hadn’t been as weak to Bruce’s charms as he was to Kryptonite.

Faced with Dick’s disappointment, Clark almost didn’t notice that Bruce was also treating him coldly. It wasn’t obvious at first – Batman was aloof at the best of times – but as the night went on, Clark noticed Bruce was missing his usual dry sense of humor, and, like Robin, was only communicating mission-critical information, no friendly or even sarcastic extraneous remarks. It reminded Clark of how their relationship had been in its early days, although thankfully Bruce wasn’t as hostile as he’d been back then. Clark could tell Batman still trusted him to get the job done and to look out for him and Robin, and they were able to work together as effectively and efficiently as always, but they were missing the openness they’d once had between them.

Clark didn’t say anything about it then, hoping it would just take time for things to get back to something approaching normal. But the trend continued. Every time Clark teamed up with Batman, Bruce treated him like they were colleagues, not friends. Robin wasn’t always there, but when he was, he was uncharacteristically quiet and seemed glued to Batman’s side, like he didn’t even want to be near Clark.

The longer this went on, the more hopeless Clark felt. He’d worried from the beginning that getting involved with Bruce would ruin their friendship. He should have paid more attention to those misgivings. He should have at least listened to Lois when she’d told him it was a bad idea to get casually involved with someone he had such strong feelings for. Lois was almost never wrong.

Clark gradually realized that time alone wasn’t going to heal these particular wounds. He had to at least try to make his case, figure out what he could do to repair their relationship. After completing a mission in Gotham with Batman – one Bruce had deemed too dangerous for Robin, so Dick hadn’t tagged along – Clark finally brought it up.

They were standing on a dark rooftop under a cloudy night sky. Clark figured it was as good a time and place as any to have an awkward conversation about feelings with someone who hated talking about his feelings, so he said, “Can we talk?”

Bruce was facing away from him, looking out over the surrounding buildings toward the harbor. “About what?” he replied gruffly, which was at least better than an outright “no.”

Clark took a breath, bracing himself for an argument before answering, “I get the feeling you’re upset with me.”

At that, Bruce turned to him with a withering expression. “I’m not,” he said plainly, though his scowl said otherwise.

“You’ve been acting like it,” Clark said, which he thought was a fair assessment. When Bruce didn’t immediately contradict him, he continued. “It’s probably my fault for ending things so abruptly. I didn’t give you much of an explanation, and I’m sorry for that. But it wasn’t anything you did. I know that sounds cliché, but it’s the truth.”

Bruce turned away again. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” His voice was flat, betraying nothing. A frown lingered on his features, but that could mean anything when it came to Batman. It was practically his default expression.

“I feel like I do,” Clark insisted, not willing to give up on this conversation until he’d at least gotten _something_ out of Bruce.

“I don’t _want_ an explanation,” Bruce said more sharply, and this time he sounded annoyed.

Clark let Bruce’s words hang in the air between them for several long moments. He knew Bruce well by this point, so he knew that when anyone tried to talk to Bruce about his feelings, Bruce would say just about anything to get out of it, which meant he often said things he didn’t mean. Clark didn’t take his outburst to heart. He waited until he felt like the tension between them had evaporated slightly before pressing on.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you,” he said, quietly enough that he knew Bruce would have to strain to hear him, “But I consider you one of my closest friends.” He paused again, let that information sink in, and from his current angle he could only make out Bruce’s profile but it was enough for him to see the set of Bruce’s jaw relax slightly, a sign that Clark’s words might actually be getting through to him. He then added, “I’d hate to lose that because I couldn’t handle being... whatever we were. Friends with benefits.”

The tightness in Bruce’s jaw returned in an instant. Clark wondered what he’d said wrong. “Right,” Bruce said tightly, still looking away.

Despite his experience coaxing conversation out of Bruce, this time, Clark felt out of his depth. He tried to search for the right words to make things right between them and, failing that, decided he’d just be straightforward. “Can you give me something to work with here? I’d like to know how I can fix this.”

This, at least, got Bruce to look him in the eye again, which was an improvement, though his tone was still harsh. “There’s nothing to fix,” he said, clearly enunciating each word. He sounded about ninety-nine percent done with this exchange, and Clark sensed that he would have to tread carefully if he didn’t want Bruce to shut him out completely. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I assumed you broke things off because you realized our relationship had gotten more complicated than you wanted it to be, and that you wanted to keep things strictly professional. I’ve been trying to respect that.”

Clark didn’t know how Bruce had arrived at that conclusion. He shook his head. “That’s not why I felt like I needed to end things.” He tried to explain again: “I told you, I’m not like you. I need an emotional component in my relationships.”

Apparently this was the exact wrong thing to say. Bruce was wearing his signature poker face, the one Clark still didn’t know how to read, but there was some unidentifiable emotion in his voice when he replied, “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to be satisfied with someone you felt nothing for.”

That wasn’t at all what Clark had expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t find the words, and in Clark’s moment of hesitation, Bruce turned and leapt off the building, disappearing into the night.

Clark knew better than to follow.

After a quick flight back to Metropolis, Clark spent the rest of the night – there wasn’t much of it left – thinking about what Bruce had said. How had Bruce arrived at the conclusion that Clark felt nothing for him? Sure, Clark had never told him explicitly how he felt, but for Bruce not to have at least picked up on _something_ from him… Clark didn’t see how that was possible.

He decided he needed to set the record straight. He’d wanted to avoid revealing the depth of his feelings to Bruce, worried it would ruin their friendship or simply that it would hurt when Bruce inevitably rejected him and told him he didn’t feel the same way, but knowing that Bruce thought Clark felt _nothing_ was somehow even worse, and had managed to ruin their friendship all the same. Clark had nothing left to lose.

The next day, Clark waited until his lunch break, when he knew Bruce would most likely be awake, and gave him a call. It went straight to voicemail.

He tried again after work. Voicemail again.

Fine. So Bruce wasn’t in the mood to talk. Clark was a patient guy. He left a message – “Give me a call back when you have the chance,” simple, straightforward – and waited.

Another full day went by, but the following evening, Clark’s phone rang, Bruce’s name lighting up the screen. He answered immediately.

“What do you want?” Bruce demanded.

Clark knew he was on thin ice. He got straight to the point. “When did I say I felt nothing?”

There was a pause on the other end, and Clark could practically sense Bruce debating whether or not to hang up on him. Thankfully, he decided not to, and even answered: “You explicitly said you weren’t satisfied with ‘just sex.’ Obviously I assumed that’s all it was to you.”

Oh. That wasn’t what Clark had meant at all. Looking back, though, he could see how Bruce could have interpreted it that way. “I thought that’s what it was to _you_ ,” he clarified, needing Bruce to understand that wasn’t what he’d meant. “You were clear about that from the beginning.”

“In the beginning, sure.” Bruce sounded exasperated. “Because that’s where my experience is. But after the first time, I was willing to try something new.” He paused, sighed into the phone. “I’m starting to see what you mean when you say you don’t have experience with casual sex. Did you think that was what we were doing the whole time? That’s not what casual sex is like.”

Clark thought about all the time they’d spent getting to know each other, just… talking. He thought about Bruce inviting him to Wayne Manor and asking him to spend the night. He thought about Dick inviting him over to dinner. In hindsight, he supposed he had to admit it hadn’t been very casual.

Of course, if Bruce was admitting to their relationship not being casual, that meant Bruce felt something for him. Something, quite possibly, close to what Clark felt for him. Clark tried not to get ahead of himself, but he couldn’t help the spark of hope that flared to life in his chest.

“I had no idea,” Clark said. “It wasn’t like any other relationship I’ve been in before. We never even went out.”

“I assumed you wouldn’t want your name and face showing up in the tabloids. I don’t know if you’ve read some of the things they write about the people I’m seen with. I didn’t want to do anything that would tarnish your professional reputation.”

Clark thought about that. It made sense. And it was surprisingly considerate. Almost… sweet.

Bruce continued, “I would have taken you wherever you wanted to go, but you never expressed any interest. You never even reached out to me. Every time we met up, I was the one who reached out to you.”

Another excellent point. Clark was starting to realize how the miscommunications and misunderstandings had built up over time. “That’s because I thought I was making a mistake having casual sex with someone I have feelings for.”

And there it was. All out in the open. _I have feelings for you._ It was up to Bruce, now, to respond.

For a long time, no one said anything. Clark even checked to make sure they were still connected, that neither of them had accidentally ended the call (or that Bruce hadn’t ended it on purpose), but no, the seconds were still ticking away on his phone, and they felt like they were counting up to something significant.

Finally, Bruce spoke, and when he did, all the irritation and exasperation was gone from his voice. “How fast can you get to Gotham?” he asked.

“It’ll take me less than a minute,” Clark answered breathlessly.

“I think we need to talk about this in person. Meet me at the Manor.”

Clark didn’t need telling twice.


	7. Chapter 7

True to his word, Clark arrived at Wayne Manor within seconds. He wasn’t dressed like he usually would be when he knew he was seeing Bruce; he’d thrown on an old t-shirt and sweatpants after work and he was so focused on continuing his conversation with Bruce that it didn’t even cross his mind to change. It only occurred to him when Bruce answered the door in his usual dressed-down professional attire that he wasn’t looking his best, but Bruce didn’t even glance at what Clark was wearing before ushering him into the house.

“We can talk in my study,” Bruce said, leading Clark at a fast clip through the house. The study turned out to be more of a small library: walls lined with bookshelves, armchairs situated together for conversation or alone for reading, and a massive mahogany desk in front of an equally large window that looked out onto the Manor’s grounds, dimly lit by the descending twilight. Like the rest of the house, it was the dictionary definition of old money, extravagant without being gaudy, the sort of room someone like Clark instinctively felt out of place in, and even more so in sweatpants.

Bruce sat them down in two of the armchairs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. For a minute, they just stared at each other, both looking like they wanted to speak but weren’t sure where to begin. Uncharacteristically, Bruce was the one who broke the silence. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”

Clark was pretty sure he knew what Bruce was alluding to. They’d wasted too much time trapped by their misconceptions of each other, hampered by their lack of communication. If they had any hope of salvaging what was between them – if there indeed was something between them, which Clark desperately hoped there was – they needed everything to be out in the open.

“I’ll start,” he offered. If there was one thing he knew about Bruce, it was that he hated talking about his feelings, and the fact that he was willing – even eager – to have this conversation was a blessing Clark couldn’t afford to take for granted. He wouldn’t push his luck by asking Bruce to lay it all on the line without first doing the same himself.

“I’ve had feelings for you for a while,” Clark admitted, figuring the best place to begin this conversation was, well, at the beginning. “At least a couple years. I never said anything because I assumed it was one-sided. And I don’t know, maybe, for most of that time, it was.” He looked closely at Bruce for any clues one way or the other: Had Bruce been harboring feelings for Clark anywhere near as long as Clark had been harboring feelings for him? As usual, Bruce’s expression gave him little to work with. He figured he’d have to wait to have his questions answered when it was Bruce’s turn to speak.

He continued, “The first time we slept together, it seemed to me like it was only meant to be a one-night stand. When you asked if I wanted to do it again, I still didn’t read too much into it. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Even when you wanted to make it a regular thing, I assumed it was still a casual relationship. Friends with benefits, like I said.” He paused, thinking about all the obvious signs he’d missed. “Looking back, I can see how things might not have been as casual as I thought, but like I said, I didn’t want to get my hopes up and I didn’t want to rock the boat. I liked what we had, even if it wasn’t everything I wanted.”

“What made you change your mind?” Bruce prompted.

“I’d had pretty serious doubts the whole time. I knew it wasn’t healthy to casually sleep with someone you have feelings for. There was no way I would be getting over you while we were having sex. So I would have ended it eventually, if I hadn’t first realized that, to you, it wasn’t just sex. But what convinced me to end it when I did was, ultimately, Dick and Alfred.”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow, like he was surprised. Clark explained, “It seemed like you were letting them believe what we had was more serious than it was. Probably because you thought it  _ was _ serious, but I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t want to let it go on even longer, all the while feeling like I was lying to them and leading them on. I knew they’d be disappointed, but I figured they’d be even more disappointed if we kept doing what we were doing only for it to come to an end later on down the line. And…” Clark paused, glanced away for a moment to gather his thoughts, remembering how he’d felt, then returned his gaze to Bruce, who was still studying him intently. “The way they treated me, like I was part of the family, was a constant reminder of what I didn’t have. What I thought I didn’t have,” he corrected. “I knew I couldn’t handle much more of that.”

Clark couldn’t think of anything more to add – at least, not without hearing Bruce’s side of the story first – so he left it there, and waited for Bruce to absorb everything he’d told him. When Bruce spoke, it was with a hint of exasperation in his voice, but Clark recognized it as the friendly exasperation he commonly received from Bruce, a sort of,  _ You’re one of the best people I know but you can be really fucking stupid sometimes. _ Which Clark felt was, in this instance, deserved.

“If you felt like Dick or Alfred were putting too much pressure on you, you should have talked to me about it, and not made decisions unilaterally based on what you thought was best,” Bruce insisted. “I appreciate that you care about them, but you were in a relationship with me, not them.”

It was a completely fair point to make. “I realize that now,” Clark said. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce seemed satisfied with that, which put Clark at ease. Sensing Clark had said his piece, Bruce leaned back in his chair and regarded Clark for several more long moments before speaking. “I guess it’s my turn, then.” Another pause. He looked away, at some undefined point behind Clark, like Clark’s public speaking professor in college had taught his class to do when they needed to remember what they were going to say next and were distracted by all the eyes staring at them.

“I’ve always found you attractive,” Bruce began. Just like when Bruce had admitted his attraction the first time, it came as a surprise to Clark, even though it shouldn’t have. “Even when I also thought you were a self-righteous, overpowered idealist who needed someone to knock him down several pegs.” Bruce smirked at that. He’d meant it as a joke, but Clark was stuck on the implications of this admission.

Clark had only developed an attraction to Bruce after they’d reconciled their differences and started working together as a team. His deeper feelings had come later, when their alliance had developed into true friendship. But Bruce had apparently found Clark attractive from the very beginning.

It figured that Bruce would be attracted to someone he also found infuriating. Still, it was flattering.

“I realized the feeling was mutual when I told you who I am,” Bruce continued, a hint of smugness in his eyes, in the slant of his mouth, like it had been immensely satisfying for him to discover Clark also found him attractive. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Clark thought there were probably fewer people in this world who  _ didn’t _ find Bruce Wayne attractive than those who did.

Clark had to ask, though. “How did you know?”

“I’m used to people looking at me like that. I know how to recognize it.” Clark thought about rolling his eyes, but he didn’t want to derail their otherwise serious conversation, and besides, Bruce’s smugness was short-lived, as he said next, “But I wasn’t used to it from you.” He paused and let his words sink in. “When I saw you at that art exhibition, I thought, now that there wasn’t anything logistically preventing us from sleeping together – no identities to protect – I’d see if you were amenable to the idea.”

“So it  _ was _ meant to be a one-night stand.”

“I wanted to keep my options open. If it didn’t work out, we could leave it as a one-time thing. If it did… well.” Bruce shrugged. “And it did. Obviously. We both enjoyed it, and I didn’t see any reason not to continue. But I could tell you weren’t the type to enter into a casual relationship, and I was willing to give you more than that. I was willing to try. And I ended up enjoying that too. The longer it went on, the more reasons I found to keep going.”

“At what point did it stop being something you thought I wanted and became something  _ you _ wanted?” Clark had to ask. Because if it hadn’t been something Bruce wanted, he wouldn’t have been so upset when it ended.

Bruce answered without hesitation. “When I invited you to the Manor for the first time.”

Clark remembered the way Bruce had spoken to him that night, how when he’d said  _ You could stay _ , he’d really meant something else. “What about now?” he asked, voice low, like if he spoke too loud he’d ruin everything. “Is it still something you want?”

Bruce gazed at him intensely, and there were layers of hidden depth behind those eyes that Clark wanted to thoroughly explore. “I wouldn’t have called you back if it wasn’t.”

Silence stretched between them yet again. Clark sensed they were on the edge of something and he had never been more ready to jump. When he spoke, he had to make a conscious effort not to let it all out in a rush. He stood up and paced across the room to get out some of his pent-up energy. Bruce remained seated. “I realize I fucked up. I should have been clearer with you about how I felt.” He stopped, turned to Bruce. “But I think you also could have been clearer with me. If we’re going to try this again – if you’re willing to give me another chance – I think we should start off by making sure we’re on the same page.”

When Bruce didn’t interject anything, Clark pressed on. “I want a relationship with you. A real relationship. I want to go out together; I don’t care if I end up in the tabloids. I want to be able to talk about our feelings, like we’re doing now. I might even want you to meet my parents. I haven’t even told them about you yet.” Clark had a good relationship with his parents, but telling them about his casual sex partners was a step too far. He would, however, tell them if he started dating someone seriously.

“I’m fine with that,” Bruce said easily, also getting to his feet.

“With which part?”

“All of it.”

Clark stared at him. Is this what it felt like to finally get everything he wanted? If so, it was somehow even better than he’d imagined. “And what do you want?” he had to ask, because this couldn’t be a one-way street.

Bruce looked at him strangely, then said, “The details aren’t important to me.” And after a long pause, during which Clark didn’t move or speak because he could tell Bruce still had more to say, Bruce added, “The only important part is that I’m with you.”

Oh. No.  _ This _ is what it felt like to get everything he wanted. Clark knew how hard it was for Bruce to be open about the way he felt, and those few words from him meant more than a thousand love sonnets from anyone else. “And here I thought you were incapable of romance.”

With the practiced ease of two people who’d been intimate with each other many times, Clark and Bruce closed the distance between them in a few swift steps, coming together in a kiss that meant more than any they’d shared before. Clark closed his eyes and sank into it, the heat of Bruce’s mouth, the steadiness of his hands on Clark’s neck and his waist, the sturdiness of his body under Clark’s touch, the comforting thud of his heartbeat. From the beginning, Clark had easily been able to lose himself in Bruce, but now he could do so without reservation, without anxiety, without guilt.

Things didn’t progress any further before Bruce pulled away, far enough that Clark knew he meant to press pause on their current activities. “You need to talk to Dick,” he said, suddenly very serious. “He’s convinced he’s the reason we broke up. He thinks he said or did something that scared you away, and he’s been blaming himself ever since, now matter what I tell him.”

That brought Clark back down to earth fast. So  _ that _ was why Dick had been acting differently. He wasn’t upset with Clark; he thought Clark was upset with him.

Clark obviously couldn’t let that go on a moment longer. Sure, Dick and Alfred’s treatment of him had made him realize the casual relationship he thought he had with Bruce was unsustainable, but that wasn’t their _fault_. “Yes, of course I’ll talk to him.”

He left Bruce in his study and took the stairs two at a time, reaching Dick’s bedroom door and knocking politely. “Come in!” Dick’s voice called from inside.

When Dick looked up and saw who was at the door, he froze and snapped to attention, like he’d been caught breaking a rule. It made Clark feel sick to know Dick had been torturing himself with guilt over something that hadn’t been remotely his fault. Clark tried to sound as friendly and nonthreatening as possible when he said, “Hey, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“I’m doing homework,” Dick said. He had his laptop and a textbook open on his desk in front of him, with a calculator off to the side.

“Should I come back later?”

Dick bit his lip, looked down at his computer screen, then back up at Clark. “I can take a break.” He shut the laptop and turned his desk chair to face Clark, who remained standing in the doorway, not wanting to intrude any farther into Dick’s space.

“Bruce told me you think it’s your fault we broke up.” Dick’s eyes widened, and Clark continued before the kid could panic. “I don’t know why you would even think that, but it’s important that you know it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Bruce and I had a misunderstanding, but we worked it out, and it had nothing to do with you, so I don’t want you to worry about it.”

Now Dick’s eyes were wide with hope instead of worry. “You worked it out? You’re back together?”

“Yeah.”

Dick broke into a smile. “That’s good.”

Clark couldn’t help smiling back. “I’m glad you think so. I think you’re a really good kid, and it means a lot to me that you approve of me dating Bruce.”

“Alfred does too,” Dick informed him.

“I know. He’s not very subtle.”

This got a laugh out of Dick. “He’s not.” He looked back down at his homework, then back up at Clark. “Are you going to have dinner with us tonight?”

Clark wanted to, but… “No one’s told Alfred to expect me. I don’t want to spring it on him last minute.”

“We could go out to eat. Or order something. Then Alfred wouldn’t have to make anything.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. “I’ll ask Bruce,” Clark said. “You finish your homework.”

Bruce was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. “How’d it go?”

“I think he believes me.” At least, Clark hoped that was the case. “He wants me to stay for dinner. Which I’d be happy to do, if it’s okay with you. Dick suggested we order something, or eat out.”

“Which would you prefer?”

Clark was about to answer that he wouldn’t mind going out and experiencing some of Gotham’s local cuisine when he looked down at himself and remembered what he was wearing. “I’m not exactly dressed for a night on the town,” he said. “But I could fly home and change.”

Bruce looked Clark up and down, seeming to take in his outfit for the first time. The sweatpants were the softest he owned, but the old Metropolis U t-shirt was a little tight on him these days. Clark didn’t miss the way Bruce’s gaze lingered appreciatively. He smirked and said decisively, “We’ll order in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who stuck around, commented, left kudos, etc. I have a few longer stories I’m currently working on but I’m running low on ideas for shorter stories, so if any of you have any requests, drop them in the comments! Even something as broad as a trope that you want to see more of. Can’t promise I’ll write them all but they might give me some inspiration.


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